


Harder To Breathe

by sweptawaybayou



Series: Austin [2]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Angel: the Series RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweptawaybayou/pseuds/sweptawaybayou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christian is back in LA, David drops in unexpectedly.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Does it kill?</i><br/>Does it burn?<br/>Is it painful to learn<br/>That it's me that has all the control?</p><p> </p><p>Lyrics and Title from ‘Harder to Breathe’ by Maroon 5<br/>Beta by Elucidate_This</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harder To Breathe

Chris woke with the stale taste of Jack and Jose` in his mouth. His throat sore from too many cigarettes, too much talking, shouting, over loud music. His head pounded in time with whoever was banging on a wall? a door? He hesitated before he opened his eyes. There was always that momentary feeling of displacement that came from traveling too much, from not being home for weeks or months at a time. What country was he in? What city? Whose bed? 

He reached out blindly, his fingers splayed between the sheets. Stopping when he touched the back of a smooth warm thigh where it started to curve into perfect palm-sized buttocks. He brought his hand back and rubbed his face, trying to concentrate. Oh yeah, he was in LA. In his own home, in his own bed. But as for the person beside him ... 

Male? Female? Name? 

Nothing was coming to him through the fog in his brain. The single distant memory of groping in the dark. Skin on skin, the flavor of someone else's sweat on his tongue. Hands on his cock, an unbelievable drunken orgasm and now there was just pain that echoed in the fucking noise at the front door as he opened his eyes in the dark and glanced over, wincing at the dull red glow from the digital clock. 

Three fucking a.m. and the banging on his front door was endless. Chris sat up, swinging his legs out from under the sheet, biting his bottom lip when the steady throb in his head turned to a sharp, bright stabbing. 

"Fuck." He whispered in consideration to the fact that his brain felt as though it was trying to crawl out of his skull through his ears. Toeing around for his jeans and pulling them on. He looked back in the moonlight at the sleeping body in his bed and was still clueless. Covers pulled up to just above the ass, thin whipcord muscles lining the dip of spine and shoulder length brown hair. Face buried in a pillow and hands underneath. 

Christ, he hated it when they ended up spending the night. 

The girls wanted to make him breakfast and _bond_ and the guys were generally uncomfortable. Suddenly feeling the urge to talk sports and swing their dicks around. Act all full of testosterone and it was complete crap. As if they weren't on their knees six hours ago, sucking Chris off like a professional. 

David was the only one that -- _No._ Chris shook his head as a bolt of pain shot through him, clearing his mind. Down that path lay only regret and grief. 

Chris shrugged in the shadows of his room, the gender of the stranger in his bed could go either way and he didn't remember a Goddamn thing. He’d flown from Austin to Nashville after the music festival, then spent a couple weeks spent finishing up some songs. He'd gone home for a night or two and now he was back in LA. Met up with some friends yesterday for lunch and they'd started drinking. Beer that quickly turned to whiskey with water, then just Jack and ice and tequila shooters; a smooth, liquid fire down his throat again and again. Talking that became bullshitting, outrageous exaggerations. Flirting with girls, boys, fuck, anyone that would stand still. Chris didn't know how he got home, sure as hell didn't know when, and if his truck was not out in his driveway he knew it was going to be an all day job just to fucking find it. 

As he headed out into the hallway, Chris held out a bleary hope that who ever was fixing to break his front door down wasn't his current sleep-over buddy's husband or wife, lover or father. He had enough of that before he left Oklahoma the first time. Definitely enough after he’d left the second time. He'd get rid of the person at the door, wake up sleeping beauty and pass the fuck out. 

Chris kicked his boots and a pair of tennis shoes out of the foyer and opened the door. He pushed loose strands of hair out of his eyes and immediately started to shut the heavy door after he got a look at who was standing there. 

David's big hands grabbed the edge, not letting him. 

"What the fuck do you want?" Chris growled. His voice raw and hoarse and if he had thought that his headache couldn't get worse, well, he was wrong. It just had. 

"Got tired of waiting for you to come to me. I wanted to come over here and kick your ass, but it looks like someone beat me to it. Or did you do that all to yourself? You look like shit, Kane." David pushed past him, walking through the living room and into the kitchen. 

Chris followed, his hands tightening into fists unconsciously. "Why would I find you, Dave? And come on in, why don't you. Jesus, you always act like you fucking own the place. Always act like you fucking own me." 

Chris leaned against a counter, watched as David reached for the half full bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge. Bit his tongue to keep the smart ass remark in his mouth when David cleared a space on the counter by pushing empty pizza boxes to the floor and kicked the cardboard of an empty twenty four pack of Budweiser out of his way. Chris knew that the condition of his kitchen, of his house, hell, of his fucking life was driving David insane. Messing with his need for order, for control. His anal retentive _asshole_ issues. 

The pounding, almost migraine level headache started to ease up on its grip of his brain as Chris waited for David to explode. 

But the big man didn't. David found a semi-clean glass and poured it full of JD, then turned and stood. Took a long drink and looked at Chris. Stared at him as if David was seeing someone he didn't know better than the palm of his right hand. 

"What?" The pain increased as David did nothing. Said nothing. "What the fuck is up with you? I haven't seen you for months. You come here at three a.m., bang on my door and drink my booze and now you're just standing there? Well, fuck you. I'm going back to bed." Chris walked away. He was halfway down the hallway before remembering that there was someone _in_ his bed. 

Fuck. 

He stopped and put a hand out, leaning against the wall. 

"Never said I didn't want to see you again, Kane." 

Chris turned at the sound of David's voice, low and serious. Looking up into dark brown eyes that were shadowed black in the dim light coming from the kitchen behind him. Shoulders and a chest that filled the small space. Chris lashed out, pent up rage rising up and filling him until it spilled out onto the carpet, ugly and vile. His fist glanced off of David's jaw, the knuckles of the other one were buried in David's tight abdominal muscles. Chris felt a small, humorless smile of satisfaction lift the corners of his mouth at the quiet sound of breath forced from David's lungs. 

"Never said I wanted to see you again, Dave. Now get the fuck out of my house." Words that he didn't mean coming out of his mouth. Chris' head hurt, his heart hurt, his soul felt as if it was being ripped out of him. When David straightened up, Chris was sure he'd see those big brown eyes filled with pain, with _want_ and _need_. Lips pouting, David's expression would be incredulous, unable to believe that he wasn't getting what he wanted. No one ever said _no_ to David Boreanaz and wouldn't that be a great way to go through life. 

But when David's eyes met his, Chris couldn't even see them in the dark. Just the flash of white teeth as David smiled, one hand coming up to rub on his jaw. The other moved with David's own brand of speed, grabbing Chris around the neck. Long, strong fingers pulling, digging into his skin. Bringing Chris right up next to David. Close enough that warm whiskey fumes blew over Chris' face as David looked at him. 

Chris felt those fingers moving lightly over his face. Callused skin touching his cheeks, his nose, his temples, his lips. 

"I know I don't own you, just don't want to fucking _read_ about you playing around. When I can't be there, when I know you're hungry and alone." David's head tilted to the right and Chris felt the fingers at his neck tighten up. David’s hand heavy on him. "Pisses me off when you act like a slut, Kane." 

"So fucking what? Who the fuck cares what you think?" Spit flew from Chris’ lips as he spoke. 

“Have you ever heard of discretion?” David leaned closer, speaking right into Chris’ mouth. Their lips brushing. “I know that you do it, but does everyone have to hear about it?”

“Yeah, discretion.” Chris gasped involuntarily as David’s groin pressed against his. David’s big body pushed him back into the drywall. “Not really what I’m thinking about when I’m being led around by my dick, Dave.”

Chris felt David’s tongue flick inside of his mouth. Tasting the flavor he’d only dreamt of for months, the hand on the back of his neck moved, fingers stroking. The mind-bending press of a palm over the crotch of his jeans, almost crushing his cock as David laughed quietly.

“Isn’t _that_ something to be proud of?” David pulled back and Chris was thrown against the opposite wall of the hallway. Pictures rattled in their frames around him and he straightened up, shaking his head to clear it. Looking up at David just as a car passed, headlights shining through the front windows and the glare flashed over David’s face and Chris finally saw what was there.

Fury. 

Chris wasn’t scared of anything, not one Goddamn thing. He’d been through painful situations growing up, shuttled between families. Moved half a dozen times under less than ideal circumstances. Been obsessed by a dream and had the balls to follow it. To nag and fight and beg and audition, audition, audition until he would lay awake at night sweating, unable to sleep, to think, to fuck until he _knew_ he had the part, whatever part. That the next step was lined up. 

But the look in David’s eyes … for a moment, one that Chris would deny upon pain of castration … he was almost, maybe, perhaps, kinda … afraid of David.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Chris straightened up, rubbing his shoulder.

“Thought I made that pretty damn clear.” David took back the space that separated them. Chris flinched when David lifted his hand and hated himself for it. 

David’s hand, of course, wasn’t coming up to hit him. Fingers running over his face again, down his neck to his throat. Caressing touches that crawled down the inside of Chris’ spine directly to his groin. Stirred his cock against the press of soft denim and rough zipper. This wasn’t the first time they’d fought, Chris reminded himself, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Chris backed into his spare bedroom slowly, never letting David’s hands loose contact with his skin. Leading David with the promise of passion. Moonlight leeching all the color from them, leaving Chris feeling like he was living in a film noir. David’s face was a study of contrasts, his lips full and soft, imminently kissable. His jaw tight, sharp cheekbones, a vein lifted, pumping blood with a rapid beat. His eyes black steel cages. Chris could still see the rage contained inside of them, tamped down by desire. But it was still there.

Chris fed off of it like a homeless, starving dog does on scraps of garbage. He caught David’s wrists and brought them to the waistline of his jeans.

“Touch me.” He whispered, keeping their stares locked. Felt David’s hands unbutton, unzip, push down and finally … finally those knowing fingers were on his cock.

“Kiss me.” Chris lifted his face up to David’s, licking across David’s lips softly. His tongue wet and hot, jumping at the taste of David’s mouth. His hips straining toward David.

David stood, completely still, looking down at Chris. His expression was unreadable and Chris felt as if he’d lost something. Some connection that he hadn’t realized was so important until now. Until it was gone. Then the moment passed and David was on him, pushing Chris back to the bed. Pausing for Chris to kick off his jeans then shoving him down. Chris watched as David peeled off his own clothes. Shirt over his head revealing a chest that could have been carved from marble, cut and smooth. Chris smiled, David had obviously been spending some time in the gym. A lot. Then the jeans, fingers not pausing as they pushed worn denim down over skin that Chris could live upon, could exist within. 

David stood, his hand running down his chest, over the muscles in his abdomen to his cock. Fingers pulling over it, stroking himself as he looked down. Chris held up his arms and smiled.

“Come here.” He whispered, as if he needed to. As if David was not already crawling over him, as if David’s mouth was not already moving on his skin, teeth clamping down on a nipple. David’s tongue licking at the hard nub of flesh. Teasing him. Chris arched his back, wanting to feel the crush of cocks bumping together. The burn and wetness that would let him know that David wanted him. Needed him.

Skin pressing down, smooth muscles moving together. The bend of a wrist with hair curling around it, the push of a knee against a thigh, spreading him wider. Spit wet fingers against his opening and Chris was panting. His hands clutching David’s back. Pulling, digging, begging. Coming up too fast. Wanting too much, too soon. 

David’s cock replaced his fingers and Chris lifted into each thrust. Met every push a matching lust. Chris felt David change angles, felt him go deeper, harder, begin an almost manic rhythm that crushed Chris back into the mattress and freed his mind.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Chris moaned, his hands in David’s hair. Brushing over the soft, spiked curls, memorizing the shape of David’s skull and melting under him. 

_Please_ and _yes_ and _now, now, now_ …

Shuddering bodies, sweat slicked and quivering, gasping breath and mouths that couldn’t be separated. Chris didn’t want to let go of David, kept his hands on David’s hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin on the inside of the sharp bones, even as David pulled out and away and off, collapsing beside Chris on the bed.

“Been too long, Dave.” Chris left his hand on David’s thigh. Felt the wet splashes of his own come on his chest cool and a shiver ran through him.

“It has, Chris." David’s voice was low and quiet. "It always is.”

They lay like that, side by side, for minutes that seemed like hours. Then David pulled himself up and off the bed. Grabbed his jeans and shirt and headed for Chris’ bathroom. Chris sat up slowly and found his own pants, wincing as he tucked his sore, sensitive cock inside and zipped up. He leaned in the doorway of the spare room, rubbing his temples with his hand. His knees still shook and he wondered where they went wrong, what they had lost.

The door to his bedroom and the door to the bathroom opened at the same time and Chris would have willingly sold his soul to the devil to be able to sink through the floor at that moment.

David looked at Chris, then to Vincent as he walked out of the bedroom. Smiling as he spoke,

“Ready to go?”

Vince nodded, ducking his head like he always had around David. As if he really was a child. Brushing his long hair back out of eyes that didn’t, that hadn’t ever matched his face. Eyes that displayed a soul much, much older than his body, than his mind. 

“Yeah, just have to find my shoes.”

“They’re by the door.” Chris pointed in the direction of the living room, unable to believe he was even _able_ to talk.

“Thanks, Chris.” Vince smiled. He walked between them as they stood in the hallway, stopped, reached up to kiss David. Chris watched as their lips met, saw tongues tangle and twist in the shadows of their mouths. His stare followed the path that David’s hand made as it moved possessively down the middle of Vince’s back, over his shirt. The younger man moved off to find his shoes and Chris heard the crack in his mind of his world falling apart.

He met David’s stare. An unasked, unwanted question hanging between them. David shrugged,

“He called. Asked me to pick him up. He didn’t want to spend the night.”

 

_Does it thrill?_  
Does it sting?  
When you feel what I bring  
And you wish that you had me to hold? 

 

Fin~


End file.
